


Desperate

by Suiyobi



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, And Pauling doesn't do anything for herself, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, SO, They have a good relationship okay, this is what we get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 04:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suiyobi/pseuds/Suiyobi
Summary: Simple, okay? Miss Pauling hasn't gotten laid in a longass time and Spy steps up to the plate. PWP. He's a kinky bastard.





	Desperate

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some dirty filthies. If you have a problem with Pauling with men, sorry not sorry? You can skip this one.

“There there,  _ cherie _ ,” 

His lips brush against her throat and her belly quivers against a leather-gloved hand. Pauling’s dark hair hangs over her shoulders like an inky sheet, her skin lily-white and bare, only covered by the last garment. One that Spy insisted she wear, her shredded stockings, black and plain, held up by the utilitarian garter belt around her thin waist.  The Spy, by contrast, is dressed, still put together in his finest suit, sitting in  _ her  _ office chair. Pressing on her belly to ease her down. “Fuck.” the swear rolls from her tongue in a hot whisper as the thick tip of him sears the soft pucker beneath her sex, slick with lubricant. She’d insisted when Spy brought the suggestion to her.

Spy shifts to grip her hips, canting them back so he can tug her down atop his cock. There’s resistance and she whimpers, breaking into a moan when he pushes past that stubborn ring of muscle and settles with the tip throbbing in her ass.

“Oh god.” her nails scrape and scratch at his trousers and the Spy kisses her neck. She sighs. He pulls her down onto his lap until the first few inches are settled in, hot and thick. Pauling thinks, perhaps, it might be too much to handle. Her head throbs. 

“How deep can you take it,  _ fille _ ?” he growls in her ear, all predator. “Try.” 

Pauling nods, sliding lower to take Spy’s cock deeper up her shapely ass. She is careful and controlled, her breath rattled and rasping as he fills her. She stretches open around him, taking him down to at least four inches. Most of him, at least, though it felt like it had to be him all. 

The Spy smiles like a Cheshire cat, gripping the mousy girl hard by the hips and pulling her up off his cock, until just the tip hovers in her ass...and spears her down atop him the rest of the way. For a moment, Miss Pauling sounds like she’s in hysterics. Crying? Moaning? She swears again, bucking her hips and shifting, tipping and getting the full sensation of the Spy’s cock buried in her ass. He’s a tight fit, always, and especially now, even slick and willing. 

Suddenly, her head jerks back, scalping tingling and aching. His sharp, dangerous eyes are on hers, wicked.

“ _ Très bon _ .”

Pauling blinks dumbly as the Spy twists her black hair around his fist, pulling hair. He bucks up into her, the fabric of his slacks scraping against her soft skin. His eyes, sharp and blue, settle on the sight of them. Of her, taking his cock so deep and well that he could only just see the base of the shaft where it dove slick into her. He shudders with delight, free hand brushing the side of her flushed face.

“Good girl.”

Now, the Spy’s full length is a bit much for most, but he tests her just the same. Leaning back against the desk chair...ah, memories...he pulls the slight woman back against his chest, looping arms beneath her knees. 

He gives no warning before thrusting up into her pointedly, truly testing what the Administrator’s little shadow could take. The woman in his arms shakes and trembles, breath barely in her lungs. It’s as if he has invaded all of her, thrusting so impossibly thick and deep that there is room for nothing else. Spy is hot and throbbing and impossible. At least, she thought.  Then he begins to move. The Frenchman has fucked her raw before, but not in the ass. Her jealous sex weeps over him, dripping with slick arousal. Lying back against him while he strikes up into her over and over again, hot and deep, pounding away, seems almost distant. Unreal. 

Pauling doesn’t even realize it when he’s moved her, pushed her out of his lap and set her against the cool metal of her desk. Papers spill off over the side and her fingers curl over the edge. A leather palm strikes her ass and she looks back at Spy, sweating and shaking. Her vision is bleary, she realizes. Crying? 

“ _ Belle _ , Miss Pauling.  _ Belle _ .” Spy hums, pulling her hips back again. His shadow is over her and there’s a wet sound as he fills her back up, plunging in with a single stroke until his heavy balls pillow against her. It hurts, that feeling of impossible fullness. But she likes the bite of pain, her fingers wandering down between her thighs to press against a slick, needy bud. 

The Spy notices and presses into her hard, too hard, and snatches her wrist, tsking. “You won’t come until I say,  _ fille _ . You know that.” He holds his position until her body shakes and she whines, eyes squinting with tears. Spy grins wickedly and thrusts, making short, deep, and quick motions that make her eyes roll back in her head and her jaw hang slack.

He’s a force over her, a demon, arms wrapping her slight frame up tight so he can hold her utterly still and use her for his glory. She comes anyway, cock rubbing her just right, attacking her sensitivities from an undiscovered angle. The mercenary pounds her ass so full and raw she can’t stand it. Her body clenches tight and seizes and a few seconds later, the Spy above her sighs, too, satisfied. Graceful as ever. He bursts with heat deep within her, pumping her full of his cum. A final slick thrust and Spy releases himself with a soft pop, a rush of seed pouring out of a satisfied gape and sliding over Pauling’s neglected sex.

The small woman trembles with exhaustion and collapses soundly on the desk, rattling a half-full coffee mug. 

There’s a rustle as she lies there, that brushstroke of white sliding silently down her thighs. “Spy.. _ oh my god.  _ That was…” she’s panting, wrestling for words. A hand sweeps up to fix her glasses, which had slid down her nose and landed askew. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

“Believe me, Miss Pauling.  _ I know _ ,” he croons with all of the arrogance that his heritage affords him. Which was a lot. He’s cleaned up now, the sound of his zipper a break, the end of a chapter in their novel of affairs. He punctuates the moment further by slapping Pauling’s bare ass one more time. It’s playful in his own way. Spy circles around the front of her desk. “Same time tomorrow?”

“No,” Pauling clears her throat, suddenly feeling profoundly exposed as she peels herself from the desk. Papers still to her chest and she swears she just got a papercut in a horrible place. “I’ve got a full schedule. Thanks, though. I needed that.”

“ _ Oui,  _ I could tell,” Spy purrs, reaching into his breast pocket for a cigarette. “How long did you go without a good fuck?”

“Um,” she’s flushing, as if the question could be more intimate or exposing than what they’d just done. “Awhile.”   
  
“An understatement, Miss Pauling. I believe we still had the Christmas decorations up.” Spy snorts a laugh, nicotine smoke whirling around his head. “Here,” the spindly man comes to Pauling’s side as she dresses. He notes that she only puts her skirt back on, not her panties. Ah, perhaps too much hassle with the stockings and all. Still, Spy gathers her dark hair in his hands, neatly tucking it back into its chignon with expertise. 

“...It wasn’t  _ that  _ long ago.” she finally murmurs in protest. Yes, Miss Pauling. It was.

He’s humming to himself as he does her hair, some tune Pauling recognizes only as being old. When he’s finished, the Spy spins Pauling around to face him. She’s nearly done buttoning her shirt by then, though it sits half-tucked into her skirt. Gently, the Frenchman takes her face in his hands. He can’t help but admire her smeared mascara, the dark tracks down her cheeks. He’d made her cry,  _ poor thing.  _

He has to bend to reach her, but his lips press to her forehead. “I suggest you wipe your tears, Miss Pauling. Some poor bastard might think you are  _ distraught. _ ” teases Spy before her skulks to her office door. “Call me should you need...further assistance,  _ oui _ ? Perhaps don’t wait until you are _desperate_ next time.”

  
  
  


  
  
  



End file.
